Descent Into Alcoholism

Hey, my title is almost an acronym for dead on arrival.

Have I matured over the years? I’m embarrassed to admit that I have, enough where my health relies on the people I’m around. I’ve reread my journal from the last year, and there’s a paucity of entries. I remember when Brandon first introduced me to this online journal, and how I introduced my friends to it, and…it became some kind of monster. Over the years, Brandon and I have been the most faithful to it, while both posting less than the past. I got a laugh out of the entries from the last year. I’ve blended wit and angst to create a glorious satire of my existence. The race to end bachelorhood has been the central theme, and I’ve taken pitstops at religion, power, success, and art. Of course, there is another topic I’m familiar with: loss.

Pippa and I, as of last night, are done. I’m not too thrilled about that, considering where my feelings lie. It wasn’t my choice. I’m not certain where things went wrong, but it could be when honesty started to take a toll. If that’s the case, I’m going to opine that hooking up with a random girl while on vacation is not nearly as bad as getting drunk and having a threesome. Hell, I didn’t even do what I was thought to have done. If you want to call a spade a spade, let’s be real with ourselves here. The whole mistakes, pointing fingers…I don’t understand why I had to be wrong all the time. Happier days, we talked, didn’t talk about us, but we talked. Now, anytime I come close to having an opinion, I’m bad. She did say that it was over “for reals”, which made me giggle because that shows the age and maturity gap between us. For reals. I didn’t want things to end. I would have given the girl the world to show her how I felt, what she meant to me. I still would give her the world, if she’d let me. The friendship process is weird, knowing that we went full tilt somewhere where I didn’t know was possible. If we were friends, I probably wouldn’t’ve found happiness until now, which means that I wouldn’t be writing this entry and I’d still have the girl of my dreams. What I am left with is a learning experience, a weak dream that one day we’ll both come around, and pictures that probably shouldn’t be released to the public. I may be an asshole, but…eh, not that big of an asshole without reason. Whatever happens, I love you Pippa. You’ll still have a special place in my mind as the first girl to make me feel like impossible was nothing.

I have eight weeks left in Long Beach, and I’m afraid of where it will go. I can’t see the future, but I can tell you the order of events as constructed will suck. Administrative duties have kicked my ass since I came back, and the schedule ahead will not afford me time to engage in a jam session until my birthday. Speaking of which, that’s a date I’m not looking forward to; outside of Iron Man 2, I’m not sure there’s much for me to celebrate. I feel like I’ve accumulated a substantial amount of wealth, but nothing to really show for it. There’s a tingling sensation that should scream “you’ve arrived” whenever I get low. Yes, I’m low right now, and I’m not hearing that sensation ring through my eardrums. Hot Tub Time Machine gave me the idea that going back to the past and changing one moment (or six) could help, but I can’t find a hot tub time machine. This is, of course, having an adverse effect on my health. Just last night, I couldn’t sleep, and my favorite pastrami was barely touched. As far as medication, I have a bottle of tequila that’s a reminder of a vacation cut short. I would have given anything to stay in Arizona so I wouldn’t return to a barren wasteland. I’d rather be a bum in Phoenix than a lord in Long Beach. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Jason Derulo “Whatcha Say”

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One Road Through Canada: Heartbreak and Triumph

There’s a joke from South Park that says there’s only one road through Canada. If you get on this highway, it will take you from province to province, hitting every major city. I found this idea loopy, until I found myself hearing the same directions repeatedly from my comrade.

“You’re going to take the 17, and when you exit, make a slight left…”

If seventeen wasn’t my favorite number, I’m sure I’d be pissed when Jordan bellowed it from his lungs. Yes, Thursday, we set sail from Los Angeles to the Valley of the Sun, Phoenix. Six hour drive there, numerous speed traps, and an abundance of Burger Kings and payday advance places. One would think I wound up in a nightmare, but this was home for me. A comfortable room loaded with alcohol, cookies, and HDNet provided entertainment, although we were barely there. We saw three wrestling shows and attended three WWE AXXESS sessions. I have an assortment of autographs that I would have never guessed. Probably my fondest conquests would be meeting Jim Cornette and hearing Dusty Rhodes compliment my belt before affixing his signature. If I was the type who believed in eBay, I’d be $3000 richer at the moment, because, er, I was there. The only bummer I could think of is that I left with one shirt; WWE didn’t stock the merchandise I sought.

WrestleMania XXVI was my reason for invading the desert, and as a spectacle, it was on point. I could bitch that the show mainly got over in spite of the matches not living up to the booking, but I will not. I had a good time. I had my best friend and 70,000 other friends along for the ride. I’ve long wanted to visit a top-tier football stadium, and University of Phoenix Stadium fits that bill admirably. Speaking of which, all of the sports facilities in Phoenix were beautiful. Chase Field. US Airways Center. Jobing.com Arena. The Spaceship in the Desert. Never before have I been so mesmerized by architecture, but sporting venues have been my passion for the longest time. I couldn’t believe that I was standing at the place where the Yankees got crushed in 2001, or where my beloved Patriots were denied immortality. We took a drive to Arizona State, and I saw Sun Devil Stadium. I could see myself living in Tempe or Glendale.

My thoughts on the show are jaded by rose tinted glasses. It was my first WrestleMania, I was delirious from the excitement, and…it was good. Parking wasn’t fun, and I barely noted the timing when I heard the military do a fly-by. My mind was racing; I couldn’t miss this show for anything. Seats were closer than I expected, the stage was magnificent, and the roof couldn’t figure out if it wanted to be open or clsoed. Marks filled the site, people chanted, booed, and really made it fun to be a wrestling fan. My crowning achievement was seeing my favorite wrestler dance one last time in the main event. Shawn Michaels has been my favorite since I started watching sports entertainment, even though he was injured for the infancy of my fanhood. Seeing him wrestle the Undertaker in a rematch from last year’s classic was…refreshing. I didn’t care who won or lost, because I knew I was watching a good match. People around the world had to have felt what I felt, but I was there. I had my comrade standing next to me as history unfolded. Fireworks, majesty, spectacle, the stuff dreams are made from, along with dairy byproducts. At the end, Shawn was defiant and met his end via the Undertaker. If that’s the last image I have before I die, then I could give up on the committed life and die smiling. Only once in a lifetime can a person see a clear picture of the past, present, and future.

And with that, the happy part of my life came to a close, as I had to return home to California. The minute I got on the freeway, I became depressed. I thought about Pippa, Skylar, salsa, grad school, unfinished business, and a single tear left my eye. It’s like the episode of House when Amber died and he didn’t want to live because he knew Wilson would hate him. I would have given the world to stay in Arizona and avoid returning to 21/22. I needed an escape. Being a coward is much better than being a hero, because at least a coward can accept the status quo and live with the ramifications. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Shawn Michaels “Sexy Boy”

Coin Flip

It all started as a simple coin flip. Pippa or Victoria. Fun vs. stability. Blonde vs. blonde…I think. Yeah, that’s about right.

Last night, I was doing some late work at the office, because I had some catching up to do. Received a text message and immediately guessed who it was. I figured that three weeks was a long enough time to not hear from someone. Sure enough, it was Pippa. She expressed dissent due to the fact I posted our conversation in our journal, mostly because it had her name. I was open to listening, but I declined to comply because I’m not a big fan of taking requests when I haven’t heard from people in a few weeks. Besides, it is my intellectual property, and I do enjoy going back and reading history as it happened without rose tinted lenses. She said that she wanted to get in contact with me, but through happenstance, stumbled upon my blog and was infuriated to see her name and the conversation. While I get that, the fact is, it happened. There were no lies or anything. Intriguingly enough, she said that if she had read my blog earlier while we were dating, it would have helped her understand me more. The rationale was that I’m never more honest than I am here. Interesting thought, but each time I was with her, I did tell her I loved her, which was the truth. Still do love her. I did laugh when she told me that I was aloof when we dated. I shouldn’t take cues from Ryan Reynolds. Unsure whether the conversation ended on a happy note or not because of the obvious tension on my part. If you want to contact a person, you’ll find a way, and she did. Regardless of being on Facebook or not, I never changed or blocked her from my primary modes of connection. I still have feelings for her, and yeah…it hurts. She mentioned she didn’t owe me anything, and as painful as it was, she’s right. At the same time, I owe her less because I gave what I had to give, and at the moment, can’t give anymore. I took a swipe at her relationship status, and she told me that I control the extent of where our relationship goes or something along those lines. She walked out on me twice, last time threatening me with her new paramour. I know what I want, I know it may be awhile before I get there, if I get there at all…but at the moment, I won’t make any sudden movements. I made plenty of overtures in the past; now, I’d like to be chased or pursued.

My favorite scene in the history of life is from the 7th season finale of Scrubs. JD looks at the hospital before he departs, and he sees his future on the screen. He marries Elliot, has a kid, surrounded by his best friends, and that’s that, all set to Peter Gabriel. I cry everytime I see it, because it’s validation that all the hard work will pay off in a satisfying fashion. Before I do anything epic, I always take a drive back to the places where it began, namely South Central Los Angeles. I go back every now and then to appreciate the value of what I’m doing, knowing where I could be if I do not maintain focus. On my iPod, Staind’s “So Far Away” came on, and I broke down. I didn’t see my life as it should be, but I saw everything that led up to this point. The beatings in elementary, the loneliness in middle school, the awkward times in high school, the always stellar grades, and the fact that I was still alone. I then saw the people that came and went, and focused on the people that still stayed. Surprisingly, Skylar was nowhere in the video package in my head. I saw Pippa and Victoria, and the coin flip. I saw the aftermath, I smiled, then saw where the present state of that was. It wasn’t happy, but poetic. I flashed foward to the point where I’m playing Tekken with Brandon and Jordan, then it goes blank. I’m standing there looking at myself in the mirror, still standing out of everything. You know what you must do, and the future is yours. I have my best friends, and I have two girls that I love. One of them, I’d like to have a future with; the question is, which one? Fun vs. stability, and other piqued thoughts.

As for the epic event I was preparing myself for, that’s a funny story that shows that I can be conspired against. I went home earlier this week to have dinner with my mother, and she had an envelope from CSULB. I thought it was my acceptance letter, but I opened it, and there was no letter. What was in there was a hotel booking, itinerary, and a ticket to WrestleMania 26. I’m in Phoenix at the moment distracted from everything that was in Long Beach. My mother said I deserved it, saying Jordan was in on everything. I have tequila, vodka, Cactus Cooler, and three more days where thinking isn’t required. When I come home, I’ll be back on the bench waiting to see which girl is interested. For now, everything else is so far away, because I’m here for wrestling. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Staind “So Far Away”

Too Big to Fail

When the government decided to shell out billions of taxpayers’ money to shore up the economy, the company line was that these companies were too big to fail. What precisely does that mean? How could one reason that in a capitalist economy, an entity could grow “too big to fail?” I was in favor of the bailout(s), because hell, maybe an institution can have such an important place in society that if it was to go belly-up, there would be a ripple effect across the board. I’m no economist, but I wasn’t fond of letting Detroit die because that would essentially be the doom of the American automotive industry. One thing I’ve learned recently is that I too might qualify under the pretenses of being “too big to fail.”

By all means, my life isn’t perfect. It’s been a few weeks since my last writing, and I can only say I’m better at face value. I’ve had a few discussions with people I should’ve been talking to, and all of them make sense. I thought it was a validation of me being an asshole, but realistically, it’s not. People have a different way of conducting business. For the most part, I did the right things, but I got screwed over as far as my luck goes. As mentioned before, when my luck turns sour, it really does spare no expense at giving me hell. Currently, I have hit the home stretch in my undergraduate year (and possibly, Long Beach as a whole), and there’s a performance every week. The team has done some improving, partly because I’ve been more critical of things we should fix. I’m sort of a player-coach, except that I…yeah, that description sounds pretty accurate. The performance schedule bugs me because there’s a shitload of them, and at least one weekend, maybe I’d like to rest. Unfortunately, duty calls.

Speaking of duty calls, I run the financial department of all things salsa, and here’s the part that makes me feel I’m too big to fail. I secured the featured instructor, negotiated my way out of a horrendous shirt design, and have the old schoolers trying to cheer me up every week. Of course, I shouldn’t need cheering up; after all, I just became published in an academic journal. Granted, not sure which one, but I’m glad my “work” and name will be well appreciated. My personality has quirks that get me into more trouble than I care to admit, but is accepted because it brings the show to town. I’ve heard the compliment/complaint that I have a magnetic personality. Half the time, I’d rather go back to my tower and sleep. Hell, I just got the director’s cut of Almost Famous; I’m sure I could watch that and be reasonably entertained. But no, my presence is just as important as the event itself; questions arise when I’m either not there or not happy. My job is predicated on making others forget about their problems for a few hours, while I still have lingering thoughts in the back of my head. Most importantly, when is it going to be my turn? Am I going to get the girl back? Do I get my friend back? Does May come quickly enough so I can head to the strip club with my comrades and after getting bilked, watch Iron Man 2? Yes, these thoughts run through my head because success is defined by the person who chases it.

Graduation fair commenced this week, and I was unimpressed. That really bugged the crap out of me, because I felt the same way four years ago. The only time graduation was graduation was when Dr. Gen came up to my and said “congratulations.” I saw everyone in the store looking excited and celebratory, and I could only muster up a shell of indifference. I think about how my mother, family, and friends will react seeing me walk that stage…they’ll be overjoyed. However, the participant himself can only give a fake smile. I know the idea is that I’m far from done. I’ve had a charmed life, but it’s painful to smile knowing there is still work to be done. I can probably expect the same thing in two years when I get my MA, which again, hurts. However, if I’m still unsatisfied when I get my PhD, I’m going to be pissed. Maybe I’ve been deluding myself all these years into thinking that titles were the be all, end all. Seeing as I was happiest when I was sharing the wealth, it could be the case. Or maybe I’m just talking out of my ass, because I know there will be some sick joy hearing students refer to me as Dr. Guy. Over the summer, I’m quite sure I’ll need to hang out with Brandon and Jordan more to get back to being dangerously cynical. If I was told I’d devolve into this much of a bitch…I’d only laugh after hearing the reason for it. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Kevin Rudolf “I Made It”

Mortality Check

If I knew my senior year would have turned out like this…I probably would have giggled profusely. Bad situations are bad, but when my situations come into effect, it’s usually worse than I could have guessed. Let’s see: tried to set my favorite comrade up with a girl; he’s no longer speaking to me. Pursued girl who I was intimate with last semester, could say I fell hard for her. She’s dating a 6’10” rugby player. Neither really want to speak to me.

I had a nervous breakdown. Still undergoing after effects which include loss of appetite, lack of sleep, and reclusive tendencies. If anyone ever said I don’t have a heart, this would be a great time to state that not only do I have a heart, I get sick over my interpersonal relationships. Really, I’m in a pretty shitty place, and people have been doing their best to remind me that I’m talented, special, all of the above. Considering that I put a shitload of time in my staff, I hate seeing things like this happen. It’s a buzzkill, because these people were influential in my choices to stay and conquer. Now, I’m left alone with a thought that doesn’t leave: they’ve moved on. I gave both of them a life beyond their wildest dreams, and ends like this. Not exactly fun, but again, shit happens. I’m not truly going to get over this for awhile, but I think I’m making the appropriate steps. Fuck. It should never have come to this, but damn. Blood is thicker than water, and still waters run deep. I’m not sure if either phrase applies here, but according to most, I have a world to dominate. I still have my two favorite allies, and from what I hear, there will be other girls. Ah, it only took me 21 years to find this one.

Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Elton John “Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters”